At Attention

by Annabeth Albert

  “Where are you headed? And with whom?”

  “Dude.” Dylan got right in Apollo’s face, height difference be damned. “It’s Friday night in America, and you happen to live in one of the most gay-friendly neighborhoods in the city. We’re going to hit up a few places, see what’s happening. As for the whom, I’m not sure that’s your business.”

  “It is if it’s my friends,” Apollo ground out.

  Dylan laughed, finally getting it. The big guy was hella jealous, not that he was going to admit that. He dropped his voice to make sure it didn’t carry up the stairs. “What? You afraid of me going out with Maddox and Ben? I’m pretty sure Maddox would let me do him, but—”

  “What? Maddox would what?” All the muscles in Apollo’s neck were tight cords. Dylan was enjoying this a bit too much.

  “Maddox would let me fuck him.” Dylan enunciated clearer. “And Ben—”

  “You are not doing anything with either of them.”

  “Or both.” Dylan winked at him. “They might be a package deal—”

  “No.” Apollo rubbed at his head, ending by lacing both hands behind his neck as if he was trying to keep from strangling him. Good.

  “Why? You got some reason I shouldn’t hook up with them or anyone else tonight? You’ve sure made it clear that nothing’s happening with you.”

  “Dustin would kill me if I let Ben have you—”

  “Have me? Dude. I’m not some eighteenth century maiden here. And you still haven’t given me a reason not to go out.” Give me a reason. Please. “All week, you’ve avoided me. You haven’t even wanted to watch the show together. You don’t want to hang with me, but I’m supposed to stay in? No, thank you.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been...busy.” The lie was evident in Apollo’s twitchy eyes, but the firm set to his jaw said that he wouldn’t be backing down—or offering Dylan alternative entertainment. Truth be told, Dylan would happily stay behind to watch the show and cuddle with Apollo, but that wasn’t on the table.

  Dylan’s phone jangled in his pocket, and he pulled it out.

  You coming? Allie texted.

  There in a few, Dylan replied. To Apollo he said, “That was Allie from work. Only reason I’m telling you is so you don’t go handing down decrees to Maddox and Ben when I’m pretty sure both are on duty tonight.” He didn’t mind using the pair to make Apollo jealous, but he wasn’t going to risk Apollo really going off at his friends. He’d been in friendly text communication with the guys since being in town, and he figured they’d meet up one of these days. Hell, he would have done it sooner if he’d known it meant Apollo losing his shit like this.

  “So you’re going out with girls?” Apollo was considerably calmer.

  “I’m their ticket to the gay bars they’d rather dance at. And Allie is determined to introduce me to every single gay guy she knows. So you never know.” He gave a practiced shrug. “It’ll be a fun group. Don’t wait up.”

  “Wait. What if I get called back to base?” Apollo sounded genuinely panicked and not like he was fishing for a crafty excuse, so Dylan paused by the door.

  “I’ve got my phone. And I’m not looking to get smashed. Just to have some fun. I’ll hurry back if you text.” Please text with something other than a work emergency.

  “Have...fun.” Apollo looked him over again, dark eyes seeming to sear the clothes right off him. And yeah, he knew he’d dressed like a guy looking to get laid. And yes, he’d rather hoped for this reaction from Apollo. He wasn’t particularly proud of that, but after a week of this stalemate, he’d needed something.

  He left even though he’d rather stay—well, rather be asked to stay. To have reason to stay. He loved people and being around them, but he wasn’t much of a partier.

  Which was why, a few hours later, he was surprised to find himself on the group’s second bar and having a fabulous time, even if he did keep checking his phone for messages from Apollo. That was only diligent, right? As was wondering if Apollo ever came to this place, either with Neal, or before, when he’d been the bad boy of Dylan’s memories.

  The Brass Rail had a pretty mixed crowd—plenty of girls there to dance and hang out with friends, but enough of a singles crowd that a guy wouldn’t have any trouble getting past the ropes and finding company.

  “Dylan.” Allie tugged on his arm, interrupting his game of who-would-Apollo-fuck. He bent low enough for her to be able to yell in his ear. “That cute guy over by the DJ booth has been staring at you the last twenty minutes.”

  “Huh.” Dylan followed her gaze to the far side of the dance floor, where sure enough an older guy in a sleeveless tee that showed off some major arm muscles was looking their way. Wait. Ben.

  Allie grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to take steps in that direction or risk stumbling. Her friends followed as they danced closer to Ben. Oh, this was headed for all kinds of trouble. “You need to forget about whatever’s got you grumpy. Dance with him.”

  As if on cue, Ben came closer, eyes still locked on Dylan. There was a moment where he could have shut him down, but the same restlessness that had driven him to go out with the girls made him move, giving Ben room to join their group and give him a welcoming smile. Maybe this was what he needed.

  * * *

  Apollo took a long, cool shower as soon as he got the girls to bed, but it did nothing to stop the pounding in his head, which continued as he pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and kept up as he surfed his way through a marathon of cooking shows. What was Dylan thinking going out?

  That he’s twenty-three and single and it’s the weekend and you’ve been a jerk all week.

  Yeah, pretty much that.

  But did he have to go out looking like something out of Apollo’s fantasies from a decade ago? Man, if Apollo were single, he would have been all over that—brash, confident, built...

  You are single. Apollo shook his head as he switched to yet another show. No, he wasn’t. Not really. This episode of Chopped had live lobsters in the basket, but Apollo’s brain scurrying all over the place prevented him from enjoying the contestants’ shocked reactions. He was not supposed to be this attracted to Dylan. And he certainly wasn’t supposed to be jealous, wondering who Dylan was dancing—or worse—with, whether he was laughing, whether his eyes had gone dark with pleasure the way they had Sunday night—

  Snick. The sound of a key in the door startled him out of his endless mental gymnastics. Dylan’s footsteps were sure in the entryway—no drunken lurching—and his voice was steady as he came into the living room. “Thought I said not to wait up.”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” Apollo wasn’t lying. “I like this screen better than the one in the bedroom.”

  Also not a lie. Anymore, he couldn’t stand being in the master bedroom beyond the bare minimum required for sleep and dressing.

  “Is this the episode with all the food truck guys?” Dylan flopped down next to him. “I’ve seen it.”

  “Don’t spoil it,” Apollo said without any real censure to his voice. Mainly he was pathetically grateful that Dylan wasn’t heading straight upstairs.

  “I won’t.” Dylan’s voice was hoarse, and whether from shouting to be heard over bar music or something more extracurricular, Apollo couldn’t tell, and that was driving him crazy.

  “Did you have a nice time?” he asked cautiously.

  “Sure did.” Dylan gave him a wicked smile. “Funny thing. We ran into Ben at the Brass Rail. Guess I was wrong about him being on duty.”

  Apollo let out a growl before he got control of himself. “You did?”

  “Why do you care?” Dylan turned so that he was looking right into his eyes. “Really? Do you want a blow-by-blow? Is that a kink for you?”

  “Blow-by-blow?” Apollo ground out.

  “Yeah. You want to hear how we danced, how we—�

�

  Apollo had had enough. He hauled Dylan closer, closing the gap between them, slamming his mouth down on Dylan’s with exactly zero finesse and a whole lot of anger that quickly transformed into a frantic need to kiss him until the only thing Dylan knew was this, until the memory of whatever had transpired earlier was blotted out.

  Dylan tasted like mint and a hint of alcohol and surprise, but then he moaned, deepening the kiss, and all Apollo tasted was Dylan—unique and spicy and utterly addictive. They clawed their way closer, tongues tangling, hands grappling. He pulled him until Dylan was straddling his lap. Fuck. The weight on his thighs felt so right. He was the perfect height for this position.

  Apollo broke away from the kiss to nip at Dylan’s jaw. “This? Did you do this?”

  “Why. Does. It. Matter?” Dylan panted each word.

  “Because.” Apollo met his mouth for a brutal kiss, one that Dylan eagerly met, sucking on Apollo’s tongue, and arching his back.

  “Because you’re jealous.” Dylan ground down against Apollo. “Just admit it. You want to know every dirty thing I got up to because you wish it was you.”

  “Yes. Goddamn it. Yes.” Apollo pulled him down for another kiss, seemingly unable to go more than twenty seconds without feeling Dylan’s lips on his.

  “I wanted that too.” Dylan broke away from the kiss to whisper in Apollo’s ear. “Wanted it to be you I was dancing with.”

  “Fuck.” Apollo’s head fell back as Dylan sucked on his earlobe.

  “And dancing was all that happened.” Dylan’s breath was a warm kiss against Apollo’s ear, but all he felt was cool relief. “And not the grinding, one-step-from-public-sex dancing that I want from you, either. And damn you for being so in my head that I couldn’t even let him buy me a drink.”

  “I was?” Apollo couldn’t contain the happiness leaching into his voice.

  “Yes.” Dylan shoved at his shoulders. “Smug bastard.”

  Apollo rewarded his admission with more kisses, gentler now, sucking on Dylan’s lower lip, taking his time. The first several buttons on Dylan’s shirt were already undone, and Apollo pushed Dylan backward so that he could trace the V of exposed skin with his tongue, fingers working to undo the remaining buttons until the shirt hung open.

  He loved how fuzzy Dylan’s chest was—and yeah, he especially loved that Dylan hadn’t manscaped before his little adventure. Jealous bastard. He used his thumbs to flick at Dylan’s nipples.

  “Oh. That.” Dylan rocked against him, licking his way back into Apollo’s mouth. Dylan yanked at Apollo’s T-shirt, exposing his stomach so that their bare skin rubbed.

  “Fuck.” He tweaked Dylan’s nipple, just to make him moan into his mouth, make him thrash against his body.

  “We should...go upstairs...right the fuck now,” Dylan panted, even as his hips didn’t slow down.

  “Upstairs?” Everything in Apollo went cold and still, chasing the burning heat out. Upstairs. To the room he shared—had shared—with Neal. Fuck. What the hell was he doing here?

  “Yeah. As in a room with a door and a lock.” Dylan laughed, hands smoothing over Apollo’s shoulders. “Hey? What’s—Oh.” Dylan’s hands stilled. Damn him for being such a mindreader. “My room is fine.”

  Apollo’s head fell back, eyes slamming shut. He couldn’t look at all the hope and anticipation bubbling in Dylan’s eyes, not when his own head was so cluttered.

  Dylan shifted on his lap, and he heard the click of the light next to the couch being turned off. “Third step from the top creaks. Here can work too—”

  “We can’t do this.” Apollo stilled him before Dylan could kiss him again.

  “Hey.” Ignoring the iron grip Apollo had on his hips, Dylan bent forward, breath ghosting across Apollo’s face. He cupped Apollo’s face. “I get it. This is the first time you’ve done this since... You don’t have to do anything, okay? Just let me make you feel good.”

  Good. That was such a dangerous concept—it felt like he hadn’t felt good in years, but also like he didn’t deserve to ever feel it again.

  Dylan kissed his neck, finding the spot where his shoulder and neck met, biting lightly. “This is nice, yeah?”

  More than nice. Apollo moaned as Dylan’s tongue soothed the bite, which Dylan seemed to take as yes, sinking gracefully to his knees between Apollo’s spread legs. His mouth was warm and eager on Apollo’s chest and stomach, lavishing him with kisses. And for a moment, with his eyes still shut tightly, it was good. So good. Almost enough to ease past the river of guilt swamping him.

  Then Dylan palmed his cock through his sweats, starting to ease the pants down. Apollo’s muscles tensed.

  “Sssh. Let me take care of you.” Dylan licked along the edge of Apollo’s waistband. He was so damn sweet, offering this, not wanting anything for himself, just giving and giving with that generous mouth...

  But Apollo couldn’t take.

  “No.” He gently pushed Dylan away.

  “No?” Dylan came to sit next to him on the couch, stroking Apollo’s arms and chest, tugging the shirt back into place. He flipped the light back on, an unwelcome flash of light behind Apollo’s eyelids. “Tell me what you need. What would make this better for you?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing was ever going to feel right again. His dick was screaming at him to just take what Dylan was offering and to stop with the thinking, but the howls from his brain were louder.

  “Would it help to go super slow? Go back to kissing? I could be down with that—”

  “I just need to be alone. I need to think.” God, it felt that was all his brain could do. Think. His eyes finally opened, smarting against the soft light of the side lamp. Darkness was easier, matched the blackness in his soul. “Sort myself out. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Dylan’s voice was resigned, but he brushed a kiss against Apollo’s cheek before standing. “I’m going to be here when you finish sorting. Whenever that is.”

  “Dylan.” Apollo stopped him before he could leave the room. “Don’t. Don’t wait.” His voice cracked. Fuck. Fuck emotions. “There’s about nine hundred reasons why this should never—”

  “And one why we should.” Dylan crossed back over to him, bent and brushed a kiss across his mouth. Despite himself, Apollo responded, taking what was a sweet gesture and cranking the heat back up to high.

  “Fuck.” He pulled away with a gasp.

  “Night.” Dylan laughed. He headed for the stairs, then paused on the bottom step, sticking his head back into the living room. “And for the record, I’m about sixty seconds away from replaying that whole thing in my shower. You know where to find me when you’re done...thinking.” He gave Apollo a cheeky wink before bounding up the stairs.

  Apollo flopped backward onto the chaise part of the couch, stretching out. No way could he face his room right then. Not after what had nearly happened right here. An angry symphony gathered force in his head. Neal. Dustin. Him. Everything good and decent he thought about himself.

  “If something ever happens to me out there—”

  “It won’t.” Neal hated this topic, and he shoved at Apollo’s chest.

  “I’m just saying. I’d want you to be—”

  “Not happening. You’re it for me.”

  “Ditto.” Giving up on the conversation, Apollo tugged him down for a kiss.

  Damn it. The memory made his sinuses sting and his throat burn. Neal was supposed to have been it for him too, not this inconvenient lust for the last guy he should want. He tried to focus on the memory, hold it close, but it slid away, maddeningly out of reach, replaced by that lust, images of how Dylan had looked and sounded.

  Fuck. Apollo punched the pillow. He was a mess. Sort himself out? Hell, he had more chance of winning the lottery.

  Chapter Nine

  ���I just want the wrapper.” Sophia pointed at the plate of tortillas Dylan had warmed up.

  “I want the wrapper and the avocadoes. No fish.” Chloe glanced over from where she was setting the table—last Dylan had seen, he had three forks, but she was “helping.”

  “You liked this dinner last week.” Dylan tried to keep his voice even.

  “That was last week.” Sophia continued wrinkling her nose.

  “I liked the wrappers.” Chloe gave herself two water cups.

  “You can’t eat just tortillas,” Dylan said reasonably. God, he sounded like such a parent. But it had been a long Monday at the day camp, followed by a long evening cooking for kids who were apparently only going to eat the part of the meal that had taken twenty seconds to prepare.

  “Wow. It smells amazing in here.” Apollo came in, all official-looking in his uniform, and just like that, all Dylan’s work was worth it.

  “It smells like fish,” Sophia corrected him. “I’m not eating that. It’s slimy—”

  “You will take a no-thank-you bite.” Apollo gave each girl a hug. “Dylan worked hard on this dinner. You will try it.”

  “Baba!” Chloe protested.

  “Have you girls washed your hands?” Apollo asked.

  “Maybe,” Chloe said as Sophia mumbled, “Not really.”

  “Go and do that, and I’ll help Dylan with the plates.” He came around the island to stand right next to Dylan, grabbing the stack of plates with his large, capable hands. The same hands that had gripped Dylan’s hips—

  Stop that. It had been a couple of days. A few awkward days. He should be over his memories of Friday night by now. But Apollo smelled so good standing next to him and looked so commanding in his uniform that it was hard to remember he was supposed to be putting his lust on a back burner. He’d put the ball in Apollo’s court, knowing full well Apollo might never want to play, because pressuring the guy into sex wasn’t his style. But damn, he’d been this close to coming in his jeans.

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